As Always
by xoxodancexoxo
Summary: WICKED bookfic. An alternate ending. Glinda receives a box from a mysterious visitor containing letters that reawaken the past. Updated as of 8202005.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, my pretties! It's been awhile. Now, I'll cut the chit-chat and get right to the point: I am writing a new story. This is my first story published that exceeds a chapter. Please be kind, because most likely it sucks. I don't know how to judge my own writing. This is based on the book Wicked.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely related to _Wicked _(the book)_, Wizard of Oz, Wicked _(the musical). I do, however, own a very good impression of Margaret Hamilton.

; P

Enjoy!

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All of the Pertha Hills bloomed in springtime. The hills themselves lost their comforter of snow and instead shifted to a thin blanket of light green grass. Tulips, crocuses, primroses, pansies, and daffodils shot up, giving the towns that had once been all blue and silver sparks of color. Graceful willows draped their branches protectively over lakes, homes, and parks. Stubby, puffy trees dotted the roads, opening their salmon-pink buds, and looking, from a distance, like several cotton-candy sticks sold at the annual Gillikin Spring Festival.

The time for the Spring Festival was approaching, and all of Frottica was preparing. Lanterns in pastel shades of pink, yellow, blue, and green adorned houses, shops, and public squares. Children chattered about the games and the rides. Wives were baking cookies, cakes, pies, and other scrumptious dishes ceaselessly. Men were building booths and repairing ones from years before. And the elderly sat and watched, as they had done all the work so many times before, and talked of Spring Festivals from long ago.

_This year_, Glinda the Good Witch thought glumly_, I'm probably old enough to be considered one of the elderly. _At forty-eight, her once-golden locks were streaked with silver. Though her eyes were still a pale, docile blue, they were now surrounded by little wrinkles in her milk-white skin.

On the night of the festival, ignoring the precedent that the elders stayed inside, Glinda dressed in a light blue gown and threw on a white cloak, for not all of the chill had yet gone from the air. She bought a funnel cake and wandered around aimlessly. Settling onto a bench near the Fountain of Ozma, she watched the young people lead the community in dancing. As she studied them, with their smooth skin and dark curls bouncing, she sighed and thought, _What I wouldn't give to go back in time thirty years! _

Of course, Glinda calculated, thirty years ago, she would have been at Shiz during this time, rather than dancing at the Spring Festival. Thinking about Shiz brought back memories. They were such a group: her, Elphie, Fiyero, Nessarose, Boq, Avaric, and sometimes Crope and Tibbett. Glinda closed her eyes. These subjects were too painful to think about. Forcing the memories out of her mind, Glinda stood and trekked back to her house.

She approached the huge white mansion with a clouded mind. Their wonderful little charmed circle of college friends was alarmingly diminishing. Elphie, Fiyero, Tibbett, Nessarose, and Avaric had all died. Glinda hadn't been in touch with Boq lately. The last time she spoke to him, three years ago, his health was dwindling. Crope was the only one who was as active and healthy (and communicative) as Glinda.

Opening the gilded gold door, she glided past the gold-bedecked guards, who greeted her with the customary, "Good evening, Miss Glinda," and didn't remarkupon her absence. Glinda ascended up the grand staircase- up forty steps, turn right, up another twenty steps. She panted as she walked and cursed herself for eating the funnel cake.

Finally, she reached her room. Even if she cared not for her husband, she adored the room he had specially decorated for her. It was a pink fantasy, with a dark pink rug, and a rose pink canopy bed, and a lovely pale pink armoire. _And, _thought Glinda as she put away her festival clothes and slipped into a nightgown (pink, of course), _my sanctuary is clutter-free now that Chuffney is dead. _Feeling guilty for her thought (and wanting to stay in the Unnamed God's good graces) Glinda knelt beside her bed and said a prayer for the soul of her husband, Sir Chuffney, who had departed two years before.

Glinda sunk into the cushions of her bed and was just drifting off to sleep when a quiet rap on her bedroom door brought her back to reality sharply. Glinda wondered drowsily if it was her imagination, until she heard a soft voice call, "Miss Glinda? Are you awake?"

Hurriedly lighting a candle, Glinda called, "Yes; enter."

A maid came in. Glinda vaguely recalled her name as being Marla. Thechild carried a candle, which she set down on Glinda's nightstand, and also a brown box. It was not big, but deep. "My apologies, madam, for disturbing you. This package arrived for you awhile ago, while you were out." Glinda sat up abruptly and took the box. It wasn't addressed. "Did you see who delivered it?" she asked.

"No, madam," Marla replied. "He was masked. If he was a he at all."

Glinda nodded and said, "Thank you. You may go. Sweet dreams, Miss Marla."

Marla curtsied and tiptoed out of the room. Glinda grabbed a knife from her nightstand drawer (which she kept in case a criminal ever escaped and found his way into her house) and slit the box's bindings. Removing the lid, she saw that it contained a stack of letters, tied together with a ribbon. One, however, was not tied in the stack, so Glinda picked it up and decided to read it first.

It was dated from the day before, and as Glinda scanned the greeting, she recognized the large, scratchy writing of her old friend and comrade, Fiyero.

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Please please please R&R! I am dying for some reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to anyone who is going to stick w/ me! I love you! And a round of applause to (drumroll)…. GalindaKnowsPopular, Cate/Caitlinda/Little Bird, bublesnbrooms, and animeluvr1 for being my first reviewers! (cheers) Now, I know that this is kind of short still, and kind of stupid, but just read it first, and then you can yell at me all you want!

Also, I invented my own way of classifying time. I am also using real-life months.

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Glinda gasped. _Fiyero! _She hadn't heard from him in twenty-five years! Wait, wasn't he dead? Scanning the page eagerly, Glinda read:

**2 April 3048, Ozian date. **

**To my old friend Miss Glinda,**

**This may seem strange, me writing to you now. I do realize it has been quite a long time, but I know that being the understanding person you are, Glinda, you'll hear me out. **

Glinda snorted. She had stopped being understanding soon after her marriage. But, she read on:

**Firstly, I will confess to you. I lied to you that day we had tea in the Florinthwaite Club so many years ago. Now, I'm sure you suspected it, but I had been seeing Elphaba when you asked, and quite regularly. Actually, we were having an affair. **

"I knew it!" Glinda cried aloud triumphantly. Fiyero had seemed quite uneasy when the conversation drifted towards Elphie. Too uneasy, like he was trying to hide something.

**Well, I will sum up the long and quite complicated story for you: Elphaba had been involved in some sort of terrorist act against the Wizard around the time we talked. (I'm not sure what she was doing, for she never let me in on her secrets.) On Lurlinemas Eve that year, I was captured by the Gale Force. I wasn't killed, but beaten badly, and then sent to a high-security prison in the Sour Sands. It was there that I learned of Elphie's "death." When I was freed, on the day the Wizard left, I went to Kiamo Ko, the Wicked Witch of the West's (quite a catchy title, isn't it?) fortress, and my home. I was hoping to find some of my old things to sell to obtain some money, but instead, I found Elphie, nearly dead, but still breathing. **

Glinda felt her heart stop. Elphie was alive! She almost started dancing for joy, and an elaborate plan to find her old friend formed in her mind. A delicate strand of hope wove through Glinda.

**For many years, we lived hidden in a cave in the Lesser Kells. Of course, it was impossible to contact you, as you, I'm sure, believed Elphaba was dead. So we stayed alone, in our cozy cave, for ten years. It was actually quite easy to get away with. Who searches for a dead person?**

**Well, a month ago, Elphaba passed away. **

The delicate strand of hope snapped.

**She was too cooped up. I think being hidden away for so many years just wasted her. Glinda, I can't even begin to explain how painful it all was. This is the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. Damn, I loved her.**

**Now that this story is somewhat explained, I'll reveal why I am writing. The day after Elphaba died, I went through her things. Under the mattress, I found all of these letters. Apparently, over these years, she had been writing letters to you, but never posting them, obviously. I thought you may want them. I put them in the order that she wrote them. Maybe you'll find out some more about her. **__

**Now I know you'll have questions, but don't bother looking for me. By the time you read this, I will be far away from Gillikin. I've found a nice little spot where I will live out my days until I see Elphie again. **

**Your old and lonely friend,**

**Fiyero**

Glinda's thoughts ran through her mind uncontrollably. Elphie hadn't died that night. She had written to her! Tentatively, as though she could feel her old friend's spirit wafting through the air, Glinda reached for the first letter.

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Like? Hate? Whatever your opinion, please please please bear with me. I can't promise that the story will get any better, but since I have no life, your reviews make my day.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Please forgive me if Elphaba sounds totally out of character. I am beginning to think that letters by Elphie are a bad idea, because there are limited scenarios in letters. Still, I have a good idea for this story, so I'll finish this one and maybe start a new (and more descriptive) Wicked fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Wicked. Since I forgot to say this last time, I'll say it again. I do not own anything related to Wicked. Happy?

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Daintily, Glinda lifted the letter out of the pile and brought it near the candle by her bed. Squinting to see the words (for her eyesight was getting much worse as she aged), she took a deep breath and read the letter begun to her ten years before.

**10 October, 3038 Ozian date. **

**A small and unknown cave in the Lesser Kells**

**Miss Glinda of the Arduennas,**

**I am not exactly sure why I am writing this. As you know, blabbing like an insipid schoolgirl has never been my style. Although, (take no offense, Glinda, as I am sure you have realized this) you probably are more accomplished at blabbing than I, as you were quite the debutante at Shiz. Well, before Doctor Dillamond's death, anyhow. **

**I suppose I should tell you what happened from the beginning, when I left you, but I think I'll save that for another letter. I'll tell you what's happening now. Do you know what the wonderful thing is, Glinda? No one will ever read this! I can say whatever I like, without worrying whose hands this letter will fall into. That's a luxury I haven't enjoyed since- since never, actually. **

**To tell you about the present, I will describe our (Fiyero's and mine) new home. The Lesser Kells are smaller, but rockier than the Great Kells. Our "house" is slightly underground, blocked by a few large boulders. To get in, you must slip behind the boulders into a big crack that opens into our "doorway." You descend a foot down and there you are, in our humble settlement. It is maybe fifty feet by twenty feet. Fiyero says it's cozy, but I think it's claustrophobic. There is barely any light, just a small ray that comes in from the crack between the boulders and us, and a few candles that we found in Kiamo Ko. **

**My poor Glinda, I'm sure if you could read this you would be confused out of your mind. I will explain more in my next letters, but I must close now. Fiyero wants to go outside for something or another, so I'd better go talk him out of it. **

**As always,**

**Elphaba **

Glinda shivered. Elphie was right, from reading this she understood nothing. _Most likely,_ Glinda reasoned, _that was what Elphie intended. _But any contact with her dear friend was better than none, so Glinda progressed to the next letter.

**16 October, Ozian date.**

** Same place as last time.**

**Dear Glinda,**

**We've been at our fortress for a week now. So far, I haven't gone outside. Yero (Fiyero) thinks I'm turning pale but really I don't think I've ever been a fixed shade of green. **

**Oh, I forgot, I'm not supposed to refer to this cave as a "fortress" anymore. Fiyero says that we are done with conspirasies and wars. Apparently, we are going to enjoy what's left of our lives. The man doesn't know how much I would love to live in peace. But I can't. Not while I'm so hated. **

**Enough of that, however. Glinda, did you hear the good news? Even we heard it in this barren wasteland. A shopkeeper told Yero while he was buying some supplies. The Wizard is gone! Not dead, mind you, but gone. I still wish I could have killed him myself, but at least all of my efforts haven't come to naught. **

**I am delirious with happiness. (Do you remember you called me "Miss Elphaba the Delirious" once? That thought just came to me.) Finally, FINALLY, things are looking up. **

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

_Ah, yes, I do remember the day when the Wizard left Oz, _Glinda reminisced._ And I do remember calling Elphie "Miss Elphaba the Delirious." _She smiled. _It was one of the first things I said to her. _

"Elphaba the Delirious," Glinda pondered aloud. "Elphie liked it even then. I remember her saying so."

Glinda put aside the letters and snuffed out the candles. She wasn't sure how many more memories she could take in one night. Flopping back onto the bed, Glinda floated into a troubled and distorted sleep.

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PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!!!! :: puppy dog face :: This is not a great chapter, I know. Hopefully they will be getting longer and better. Now, press the pretty review button. Come on, you know you wanna!


	4. Chapter 4

Whoo-hoo! Who all watched the Tony Awards on Sunday? Go Idina!!! I was so nervous for her I had to have my parents hold my hands for moral support when they were announcing the winner. She looked kinda nervous when they were performing "Defying Gravity," though. And what about Taye? He looked so happy. It was really cute. But what is it about Best Musical? I mean, come ON! Wicked most totally deserved that award.

Alrighty, I've been chatting too frequently so I'll cut it out. Here's the next chapter! I tried to get this one in early. I don't think I can post the next one till about Monday. So hold on until then.

Disclaimer: I do not own the book Wicked by Gregory Maguire. If I did, I would be much richer than I am now.

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_Crope, Glinda, Boq, and Milla sat chatting at Boq's house. A troop of horses pulled up in front of the yard. Sir Chuffney emerged from the carriage, a strange, faraway look on his waxy face. He walked over to Glinda and embraced her. "My dear wife." _

_"Not now, Chuffney. Anyway, did you hear about Pfannee's mother-in-law? She-"_

_"Glinda, my dear, the-"_

**_"Not now, Chuffney. _**_As I was saying, Pfannee's mother-in-law got so mad at Pfannee for ruining Lurlinemas dinner, that she tells her-"_

_"I must insist that you let me speak, Glinda, I-"_

_"Chuffney, you aren't deaf **yet! **You heard me! I'm trying to have a nice conversation with my old friends from Shiz, **who I hardly get to see, **and you barge in here and interrupt. I won't have it! Where was I? Oh, yes, well it wasn't even Pfannee's fault, that nephew of hers-"_

_"Glinda! The-"_

_"Papa! Mama!" Rikla, Boq and Milla's child, came running up the hill. "Guess what I just heard?" Without waiting for an answer, Rikla plowed on, "The Wicked Old Witch of the West is dead! Killed by a bucket of water!"_

_This news was greeted with silence. Then Milla burst into tears and everyone looked at her surprisedly, for she was never close to Elphie like the other three were. "That poor, poor woman!" Milla sobbed. "Oh, what we put her through! Rikla, if I ever hear you call her that terrible name again, I'll whack you from here to oblivion!"_

_Glinda stood and ran. "Oh, Elphie!" she cried out._

Glinda woke up in a cold sweat. That dream again. Glinda took a sip of water from the glass beside her bed and sat up. She hated reliving Elphie's death. _But she didn't die, _Glinda thought to herself, remembering the box. She got up and peeked into it, to reassure herself that Elphie really lived ten years longer than Glinda had thought.

Glinda reread her second letter. True, the Wizard left, but his legacy did not. A month after he flew out of Oz, a woman, with dark brown hair and golden eyes, dirty, and tired, but triumphant, came forward. That day there was much celebration in Oz. Ozma Tippetarius had come back.

Ozma Tippetarius gave the Ozians a renewed source of hope. Munchkinland was annexed back into Oz. Shiz became what it used to be in the olden days. The only thing that stopped Oz from being what it was like years before was the Animal issue. The remaining Animals were restored their rights, but the problem was, there weren't that many Animals left. Most of them had lost the will to live along with the loss of their rights. The few who had survived the Wizard's tyranny had developed a fear of humans, and kept to themselves in secluded colonies. __

Ozma's reign was only for three years. Since her death, her grown daughter, Ozma thePacifist, had succeeded the throne, and order restoration in Oz was complete.

**19 November, 3038 Ozian date.**

** The same tiny dirty cave.**

**Dear Glinda,**

**It's been a few weeks since I've written. But I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that all is going well here. We are now the proud owners of a cave, a table, a bed, three chairs, a kettle, and four dishes. Our little cave is getting to be so homey. Ha. **

**I wonder how you are doing in Gillikin. Last time I saw you, you looked like a walking cream puff that some society ladies would eat at teatime. Are you still married to that baronet, Sir Chuffney? Do you have any children? I should hope not. Children make me shudder. **

**Our cave is decorated for Lurlinemas. I hate it. Fiyero insists, otherwise I would drape the whole place black. I have not told you the story. Well, I suppose I should explain. I've never explained much to you about my life. **

**My poor Glinda, were you heartbroken when I left you alone in the city and made you go back to Shiz on your own? I can't imagine. I don't think my presence at Shiz was benefiting anyone, except maybe my father, because when I was at Shiz, I wasn't at home. When I left all of you, I moved into an abandoned store room in the Emerald City. For five years I was involved with a terrorist group so obscure I don't even know it's name. We never saw each others' faces, nor heard our voices, but we all had the same goal. All of us were tired of the Wizard's despotic reign and all of us wanted but one thing: the Wizard of Oz's death. **

**Oh, sweet Oz, Glinda, I'm so tired and the memories are scary. It's very late, and Fiyero is snoring like that old Hog who used to clean the dormatories at Shiz. Would you so terribly mind if I continued tomorrow? I have to get some rest.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

_Yes, yes, yes, I would mind! _Glinda screamed in her head. She wanted to know more and was hungry to know information about this mysterious friend. She grabbed another letter and absorbed Elphie's thoughts into her mind.

**28 November, 3038 Ozian date.**

** Minik ot Bellun**

**Dearest Glinda,**

**Have you noticed our little resort has a new name? Yero named it. He told me these are the Arjiki Vinkus words meaning "love and happiness." Apparently, the phrase is used as a toast for weddings. That made me laugh. Thirty-eight is far too old to be a blushing bride. It is a melodic phrase, so I like saying it: minik ot bellun. We have love here, no doubt. We always have. Fiyero is the reason I live. But happiness…happiness is something that has rarely graced my life. **

**Well, to continue on with what I started: I had planned to keep myself underground and shut away from human life until my mission was accomplished. It wasn't to be. One day, I was in the chapel in Saint Glinda Square (our group used a certain pew as a place to hide notes concerning our actions). Yero found me there. I tried to lose him but that dratted man followed me. So, I let him talk and visit, and come back and before you know it we're in a full scale love affair. On Lurlinemas Eve, I made him swear not to come to my house, because that was the day I was supposed to assassinate Madame Morrible. The genius waited at my house, and the Gale Force captured him. For seven years I cared for the poor and sick and orphaned brats at the Saint Glinda Mauntery. Then, I had traveled out to Kiamo Ko and stayed with Yero's wife, Sarima, and their three children for another eight years. And then you know the story about Dorothy-the-Coldhearted-Bitch supposedly "melting me." The pain was like fire, but I survived it. I had given up on hope of living when Yero found me. At first, when I saw him, I thought I was hallucinating. But Yero is alive, and we are here. **

**Nothing else is new. Oh, but I did go to the market yesterday. Yero finally convinced me to leave the house. I really don't understand him. Suppose a stray member of the Gale Force just happened to wander into the marketplace? Yes, I do know that they have recently been outlawed by Ozma, but that doesn't mean that they are completely wiped out. I mentioned this to Fiyero this morning and do you know what he did? He rolled over and went back to sleep.**

**Dear Glinda, either I'm crazy or the rest of the world is.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

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You know the drill. REVIEW!!! I am holding Chapter 5 ransom for at least 5 more reviews. MUAHAHAHA!!! ::psychotic evil laughter::


	5. Chapter 5

Hello again, my darlings! How art thou? I am well, thank thee. You'll be pleased to know that my show went well. Time for Chapter 5!!!

AN: There will be a plot, I promise!!!! And also, I will be including some of Glinda's everyday life in here.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I claim to.

On with the show!....

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Glinda sighed and rubbed her elbows. It had stormed last night and the rain had made the air heavy and humid. The moisture seeped into the walls and clung to one's skin. There was nowhere to escape the rain in the old stone castle. That's the way it was in Chuffney's mansion: bone-brittle cold when in snowed, hot as hell when it was sunny, and the dreaded swamp-like feeling when it rained. Glinda and the servants didn't fight it. They just sat back and complained.

She made her way over to the window and stretched her head out. It was just drizzling right now. Raindrops oozed from the sky, and hit Glinda's face, making their slow march down the side of her cheek. Suddenly, an onion-like taste filled her mouth, and she pulled her head back as if the rain had stung her.

Rain always made Glinda think of Elphie. _How could anyone be allergic to water? _Glinda marveled. _The very idea! But yet, Elphie was one of the cleanest people I've known. What was it Fiyero said last time I saw him? Was it oil that she used?_

Shaking her head, Glinda closed the window. She opened her armoire and was studying her wardrobe in hopes of selecting a light and airy, but conspicuous outfit when the door to her chamber burst open and Glinda's cook stomped in.

"What in Oz-" Glinda squealed. "Hilda, do you ever knock?"

The head cook, Hilda, had worked in the castle for twenty-five years. She and Glinda were on close terms because they used to bad-mouth Sir Chuffney together. Whenever Glinda felt she was becoming a trifle too plump, she fired Hilda. But always Hilda was back within the week because no one cooked quite like she did.

"Oh, pardon, Lady Chuffney," Hilda grinned, mockingly. "I should have known better than to disturb her Ladyship while she was choosing today's torture."

"I should like to know how fashion can torture one. _I _am not tortured by my clothes. Do your clothes torture you?" Glinda retorted.

Hilda gestured to her simple green workdress and apron. "I am not tortured by _my _clothes. It's _your _clothes that cause trouble. Honestly, walking near you is a skill within itself. Walk behind Lady Glinda, you trip over the train of the skirt. Walk in front of her, you get trampled. And forget about even trying to walk beside her, because with that dress' hips-"

"I assume that you came here for another reason than to nag me about my gowns," Glinda said huffily.

"Ah, that. Listen, do I have to heat the stove today? With all of this rain, I doubt we'll even get a spark of coal lit. How about a nice cold vegetable cassarole for dinner?"

"Mmmm-hmmm," said Glinda, while she eyed a frilly yellow gown critically.

"And also, Doyle, that unreliable good-for-nothing, quit today. I need a new apprentice. Now I don't think I want any maids to help me. Most of those air-headed she-wolves can't even tell a chova root from a punti leaf."

"How about that nice one, What's-Her-Name? The one with the black hair and black eyes? Margot, is it?"

"Marla."

"Yes, her."

Hilda concentrated for a moment and then said, "Oh, what the hell! The gal has spunk, for such a little mouse. I saw her slide down the stair rail the other day." She turned and left. Glinda squinted and decided on her frilliest gown, just to spite Hilda.

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                                                                                          **3 December, 3038 Ozian date.**

**                                                                                          Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**I forgot to tell you about what happened when I went outside last week. Well, to begin, we left early morning when the sky was still pink. We decided that we should go because the Lesser Kells get awful storms in the winter and it isn't safe to venture away from shelter. So, we walked for an hour, and finally we got to the impressive marketplace, about nine brown coarse tents with different goods in each. **

**I made Fiyero go to the tent that sold swords and such, because out here, you never know with all of these imbeciles that roam the Kells, trying to prove to themselves that they are strong enough to survive the winter. I despise itinerant anythings. But, seeing as my life was an itinerant one, that's understandable. **

**While Fiyero was buying weapons, I went to an herb seller, for some basic roots and leaves to treat us over the winter. I was examining a gomba root when the seller came over to me. **

**"Can I help you, dearie?" she croaked. She threw off her hood, and I saw she was a wizened old woman. Her hair was white and thinned, and looked as if it could hardly stay in her head. She was short and wrinkly, and had a crazy glint in her eye.**

**"No, thank you," I told her. "I've found all I need." Even though I was wearing a black dress and a heavy black veil, contact with people other than Yero still makes me nervous.**

**"I think that you are missing something you need very much, Sister Saint Aelphaba," she said disapprovingly. **

**I looked up quickly at the sound of that name. That is what the maunts had called me. "Who are you?" I asked cautiously.**

**She grinned, revealing a toothless mouth. "I have known you for a very long while, dolly."**

**"But who are you?" I said. By this time my voice was hoarse with fear. I was so afraid that my cover was blown.**

**"Mother Yackle will never tell the green men where the dolly is," she said, reading my mind. Then I remembered. When I first came to the mauntery, I was very sick. Yackle was the one who took care of me. She was old then, and that was fifteen years ago. She must be ninety years old by now. She looks so different. As if she can understand what is in one's soul. Excuse me, one's _mind, _I don't believe in souls. Yackle is a scary person. Once she makes your acquiantance, she stays in your life. **

**Then she pushed some more herbs into my hands. Actually, I think she gave me some of all of her goods. "Yackle doesn't charge the dear one," she told me matter-of-factly. "Dolly may have herbs whenever she wishes." She patted my stomach and said pleasantly, "Be of good cheer, dear one, for you are blessed." Then she went to help (or scare) another woman who had just entered the shop.**

**Blessed? Me? Those are two words that I would never use in the same sentence. What could I possibly be blessed with? Because of my skin, those pills Mama took probably deformed Nessarose. I managed to get Sarima and her sisters killed. The Gale Force took them because they were looking for me. If I'm blessed, I should hate to see what the lives of others are like.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

Glinda shuddered at the thought of this Yackle woman. _Old women, _she decided, _should have the good sense to die when they are no longer wanted. But not me, _she reassured herself, _for I am still needed here. _

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Press the "Submit Review" button, and type in your comments, and you will get a big surprise next chapter! ( I think.)


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry it's been so long! Unfortunately, I am going on vacation, so you won't hear from me for at least another week. So sad. Anyway, does anyone know how long the students study at Shiz? I don't know if it's 3 or 4 years.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Wicked.

And let the show begin…

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"And I think that Gillikin as a whole would be impacted most positively. As Frottica would be the chief beneficiary, I would like to hear Lady Glinda Chuffney's words on the matter."

Glinda jolted quickly, being brought back to real life at the sound of her name. Lord Wiltberry, mayor of Wittica, stood on the tribunal, glaring at her menacingly. "Yes?" Glinda asked nonchalantly.

"I had inquired about your opinion on the issue most recently at hand," he said coldly.

"And that issue is?" Glinda yawned, ignoring the snickers of her fellow government leaders. _As if they were in a classroom, and not a mature, productive discussion about the future of Gillikin!_

 Of course, Glinda had to admit, there was nothing mature and productive about falling asleep in the middle of a meeting between mayors of Gillikinese towns. Once a week, the mayors of Frottica, Wittica, Settica, Red Sand, Dixxi House, Brox Hall, Traum, Tenniken, and Neverdale met to discuss the problems and concerns of each town. It was, Glinda thought, the most boring event she had attended since one of those "Spiritual Revival" meetings Nessa had talked her into going to once.

"We were considering the idea of having an extension of the Yellow Brick Road built from the Emerald City, straight to Frottica. _I_ think it is a splendid opportunity for Frottica, and all of Gillikin."

"I would be severely disinclined to agree with you, my good Lord Wiltberry," Glinda said sweetly.

The specticles on the bridge of his nose slipped down to the tip of it. "The Ozma thinks most highly of the idea," said Lord Wiltberry imperiously.

"The Ozma, my dear fellow mayor, resides chiefly in the Emerald City. I cannot imagine how she, who has neither seen nor spoken to the people of Frottica, could know what is best for them. A large road built through Frottica would destroy a peace that the Frotticans thrive on. It also would take up farmland and could quite possibly decrease the abundance of dairy products that the Ozma so enjoys," argued Glinda.

"Are you questioning the Ozma's ability in knowing what is best for Oz?" Lord Wiltbery said dangerously.

"Goodness no, my lord, I was simply saying that unless the rest of Oz would like to lose their bones and teeth early due to lack of calcium abound in Frottican dairy products, then perhaps urbanizing Frottica may not be the most intelligent solution to our problem." Glinda smiled politely and batted her eyes. Slowly she watched Lord Wiltberry turn purple, confirming her suspicions that he had indeed proposed the idea to Ozma.

"Mind your words, Madam Mayoress," sneered Wiltberry nastily, "for sometimes rash words can be interpreted as treasonous. Let us disperse!" he called out loudly.

The group rose and shuffled out of the hall. Glinda found herself walking with Lady Gudderbell, wife of the mayor of Red Sand, where this week's meeting was located. "You are Glinda of Frottica, yes?" she asked.

"Yes," Glinda said.

"I quite enjoyed your little debate with Lord Wiltberry today," she teased warmly. "I will have to tell my husband. He is sick and couldn't make the meeting today. So here I am."

"Well, Wiltberry does try my patience," admitted Glinda, surprised at how easily she could speak freely with a woman she hardly knew.

"Ah, he's an old fool," she waved her hand impatiently. "What a goat! He is only mad because he doesn't think a woman is capable of running Frottica."

"Well, I think I've done quite a good job of it for the past three years," said Glinda indignantly. "Why else would the people elect me again each time?"

"I was only saying what he said, dear," Lady Gudderbell said hastily. "I think you do just fine. But there are some," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "that would not like to see you in office. Wiltberry is one. Be careful of him."

"I'm am always careful," Glinda said steadily, wondering about this woman's warning.

"Good," said Lady Gudderbell. "Look, here we are. The railroad station. I must be getting home to my husband. And you must be getting home to the Frotticans. How long is your trip?"

"Only a few hours," said Glinda.

"Lovely," Lady Gudderbell smiled. "Do you remember the days when it took almost a week to get from here to Shiz? I studied at Revel Heights and hated the trip so much my family didn't see hide or hair of me the whole time I was in college! You look like one of Morrible's lot. Are you a Shiz graduate?"

Flinching at Madame Morrible's name, Glinda replied, "Yes, I went to Crage Hall."

"How fabulicious! Really, we must get together sometime. You can tell me everything about Crage Hall. That's where I applied first, but of course, you take what you get. Well, my husband will be expecting me. Toodle-loo!"

"Bye!" Glinda waved, as Lady Gudderbell sashayed away. Shaking her head dizzily, Glinda wondered if it was possible that someone existed who could actually talk more than she could.

On the train ride home, Glinda took out one of Elphie's letters, which she had brought along for light reading on the ride. Then again, Elphie was such an emotional person that her thoughts and opinions on everything could hardly be taken as "light." She flicked on the passenger light and eased back into her first-class luxury chair.

                                                                                          **14 December, 3038 Ozian date. **

                                                                                          **Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**Lurline, help me! Never before in my life did I think I could be desperate enough to invoke the name of a deity. Now I am. I am so sick. It started two days ago. At first I could hardly see straight, but now I am well (not well, but not as ill) enough to write. All I do is puke, and puke, and puke, and then sleep, and puke some more. It's a stomach virus, but none of Yackle's herbs will treat it. **

**Yero's very nice about it all. He holds back my hair, and wipes my head with a rag, since all this puking has been inducing sweat. He has to help me walk everywhere because I get so dizzy. **

**Oh dear, I have to go. I feel more coming on…**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

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Roses are red, violets are blue, if you review, I will love you!


	7. Chapter 7

Hello again, my dear ones. I'm so sorry for the long wait. I'm also sorry for the very short chapter. I'm not sure whether or not I'd like to continue this story, so please, review and let me know if I should/shouldn't.

Disclaimer: As you know, I own nothing.

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Glinda frowned. Elphie was never one to brood on illness or weakness. It was also uncharacteristic of her to write such a short letter. Then again, she was ill. _Come to think of it, _Glinda thought, _I don't ever think I've seen Elphie sick, physically sick, in all my years knowing her. I _know _I didn't. _She turned the page to the back, because she had noticed that Elphie started writing her letters on the back of paper, too. Glinda guessed that at the time they had been running out of it. Sure enough, there was another letter.

**1 January, 3039 Ozian date. **

** Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda, **

**I don't understand this. How is it possible? I can't believe it. Yackle was the one who enlightened me. She actually "dropped by the cave for a chat" a week ago. I don't know how she found me, but I hope she comes more often. Though I hate to admit it, I need her help.**

**This is mad. It's insanity. I'm losing it. This isn't possible. When Yackle told me I nearly fainted. I'm just too old! I should have known. Why else couldn't it be treated?**

**But then again, how could I know? Yes, I've gone through this before, but that was a long time ago. And I wasn't even conscious. But Glinda, I'll tell you that story when I'm calmer. **

**It will never work. I'll never get through this alive. Of course, Yero is just bursting with happiness. He is constantly mentioning it. I don't have the heart to tell him I can't go through with it. **

**Glinda, how is it possible that I can be pregnant at age thirty-eight?**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

Glinda let out a small shriek of surprise, earning the stares and glares of those around her.

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I completely screwed this chapter up. ::cowers:: Don't hurt me!


	8. Chapter 8

Hello dears, I'm back again after a long while. Here's chapter 8! Trust me, this story does have a plot, it's just slow. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Wicked.

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It took a few minutes for the information Glinda had just read to process. In fact, she was still in a mild state of shock when the carriage pulled up to her mansion. She tipped the man in a daze. He shook his head and whipped the horses quickly, starting their tap-dance along the cobblestone streets. By the time she sat down for supper, she had only partially registered the fact that Elphie had gotten pregnant ten years ago.

Glinda now dined alone, since Chuffney was long buried in the ground, thank goodness. That night a stew of wild boar was being served, but Glinda didn't eat it; she only stirred it around and around until it wasn't any warmer than the white wine next to the soup bowl. The clock in the hall chimed nine times, signaling the end of one hour and the beginning of another. Soon after it struck ten times, and Glinda heard a quiet voice behind her.

"Are you going to eat that, or should I take it for you?" the voice asked.

Glinda looked up. Marla, the newly-created cook's apprentice, gazed at her. "I guess I won't be eating it," Glinda replied.

"Oh, well, may I take it, then? Hilda will hit the roof if I don't have all the dishes clean by tomorrow." Glinda nodded, and Marla took the bowl with surprising grace. She drifted out of the dining room. Glinda stood and trudged up the stairs.

When she reached her room, she grabbed the letter that she had read on the train, the one that revealed Elphaba's pregnancy. There was something unsettling about one of the sentences. She quickly scanned the letter until she came to the sentence she was looking for.

**Yes, I've gone through this before, but that was a long time ago.**

_Lurline, help me,_ Glinda thought,_ I don't think I can take anymore of Elphie's surprises. Two children! Sweet Oz!_

She found the next letter, hoping that it would answer some of her questions that had begun to explode in her head.

**29 January, 3039 Ozian date.**

**Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**This morning sickness will not let up. But now I can set my watch by it (if I had a watch). I get up and immediately puke. I also puke after breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sometimes I puke in the middle of the night, but that's been letting up just a little bit. But for Oz's sake, I thought it was supposed to be _morning _sickness, _morning _being the operative word. **

**Yackle, who has taken on the responsibility of being my obstetrician, said to me, "This pregnancy, dearie, seems to be much harder on you. I doubt it will be easy, but you're a strong little duckie, aren't you?"**

**I reminded her that it is _morning _sickness, not _puking-anytime-the-baby-pleases _sickness. She grinned maliciously and said, "Dolly, this baby is simply more demanding."**

****

**Thankfully, Fiyero didn't notice her usage of the word "more." I can't tell him. Not yet, anyway. **

**I'll talk to you soon, Glinda. I just can't seem to get the energy to do much lately.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

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**6 February, 3039 Ozian date.**

**Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**Here I go again, explaining things that cut me open just thinking about the memories. But here goes. Well, I suppose that after all those nights I slept with Yero, I was bound to get pregnant. On the night of Fiyero's arrest, sixteen years ago, I went to the mauntery, as I have told you. I was unconsious for about a year and a half. Oz help us, I slept away a year and a half of my life that I could have been doing something else, something productive! What that nasty Yackle never told me was that I was pregnant when I came into the mauntery. I delivered the child, a boy, named Liir, while in a coma. Of course, I had no idea I was the boy's mother. **

**When I went to the Vinkus to seek forgiveness from Sarima, Fiyero's wife, I left the maunts under the condition that I was to take this boy, Liir, with me. I hadn't even thought of the possibility of him being my child until an incident occurred one day. That demonic child, Manek, had somehow convinced Liir to hide under the fishwell cover, in the water. (I don't care how wonderful Yero is, his son was still a brat.) The poor boy nearly drowned, but when he was finally revived, he said that a fish had told him that his father was Fiyero. That's when I began to question Liir's parentage. **

**Now I am positive that Liir is my son. Usually I never feel remorse or regret (except on the subject of my birth), but I do feel terrible about how I treated him. I neglected my son, dismissed him as weak, stupid, unimportant. He disappeared right after I "died." But I can feel it in my heart that my son is alive. Sometimes I wonder where he is, and if he thinks of me. I wonder if he knows I'm his mother. And if he does, does he hate me for my cross and impatient temperment toward him? Does he regret that he never confronted me? Does he wish that I would have told him about his father, the man who he never got a chance to know? **

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

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I hope you liked seeing Elphie's sentimental side. And if you didn't, remember that she is subject to unfamiliar moods. Now you know what to do: review!!!!!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

Hello dears, I'm back again. Sorry that the updates have been so sporadic. I'm even more sorry to say that they will get even more sporadic, now that I'm back in school. I'm going to be busy with a show right now, but by early October I should be updating more frequently.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, or things from _Wicked. _

And on with the show…

**11 April, 3039 Ozian date. **

**Minik ot Bellun**

**My dear friend Glinda,**

**I'm sorry I haven't written lately. The morning sickness _finally_ stopped about a month ago. I am now four months pregnant and I don't really show, thank Ozma. I'm just a bit bigger. When my mother was pregnant with Shell, she looked like a hippo for about five months of her pregnancy. **

**Fiyero went out hunting today, now that I can keep meat down again. I never ate that much of it before, but I've been craving it lately. So Yero's out to get me some, on strict orders to make sure any food sources that he finds are animals, not Animals. **

**A bit after he left, I heard an awful pounding at the entrance of the cave. Believe it or not, this has happened a few times. Sometimes people who are searching for a vacant area stumble upon our cave. Now, it isn't the easiest place to see, because it just looks like a strange dent in the hillside, but some of the more clever ones (or perhaps ones with better eyesight) do spot it and start beating frantically to see if it's hollow. Of course, that trick doesn't work well with rock, so they just smack the wall until their fists get tired and they move on. It scared me at first, but now it doesn't because we put three huge rocks in front of the "doorway" so it's impossible to enter from the outside. **

**But this time, this person kept pounding and pounding and I was just about to put a veil on and see who it was when a heard a cranky old voice yell, "Damn you, dolly! You should know by now that if someone smacks for a long time, it is Yackle!""**

**I let the old nut in and kept my distance until she had dried all of the snowflakes off (all the while grumbling, "No one but dolly treats Yackle with disrespect," and then proceeding to call me stubborn, mean, and impertinent). Then I stepped closer to her and said, "What are you doing here? It's freezing outside." The cold weather persists until May, and today is one of the coldest we've had yet.**

**She held out a bundle in her hand. "Yackle is disappointed with you. You haven't prepared for the baby yet."**

**"What are you talking about?" I was bewildered. Yes, I haven't quite prepared emotionally for the baby, but for Oz's sake, we are very prepared. Fiyero even made a cradle. A _cradle. _Though I do admit it isn't a very pretty cradle, since woodworking isn't exactly a talent of Yero's, it is still a cradle. How much more prepared can one get?**

**Yackle sat down on a chair that Fiyero made me, which I don't think will support my weight once I really advance into my pregnancy. But Yackle is barely anything but bones, a bit of skin, and vocal cords, so it has no problem holding her up. She grinned wickedly. "Did dolly start making baby clothes and blankets?"**

**Whoops. **

**Her grin stretched wider. "Which is why Yackle has come prepared to help prepare you, dearie." She held up the bundle. "I will help you make linens."**

**You know, though Yackle is an ancient, belligerent whackjob, she is still a very nice person. "Thank you," I said.**

**She smiled sympathetically. "I know that dolly isn't used to this. It's all new to her." I suddenly felt a rush of gratitude towards her. "Especially since she paid no attention to the last baby."**

**She brought that up again. The bitch.**

**We sewed for three hours, _three hours, Glinda, _and all we got done was a blanket. One measly little blanket. In _green, _of all colors. **

**"I'll come back tomorrow," said Yackle. Joy. **

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

Yes, short, I know. Don't kill me. I will get longer... (I'm always saying that, aren't I?) Now review!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**I know, I know. I totally suck, not updating and leaving you like that. This was due to the fact that my computer crashed and I lost this story. Again sorry, and thank you to those who are sticking with me.**

Glinda heaved a sigh and tossed aside the petition she was reading. She dearly loved the Frottican people, but they could be trying. She hoisted up her heavy skirt (pale blue embroidered with red roses) and thumped her feet on the table in a severely unladylike manner.

"Miss Glinda the Hussy. I would never have thought _you _of all people would be the first to become senile."

She whirled around, gripping her chair and knocking over a vase in the process. Water sloshed everywhere and real roses clung next to the pretty embroidery on Glinda's now-damp skirt.

"Crope!" she cried, as a maid rushed in, gathering the shattered glass and mopping the water with a rag. "You've ruined it!"

"I haven't," Crope said, idly plopping down on a velvet chair and propping his own feet up on the coffee table. "Lady Iselda of Dixxi House spilled an entire goblet of red wine on her white dress, which, by the way, was encrusted head-to-toe with diamonds, and she got it out just fine. If a stain like that could come out, what's this then?"

Glinda glowered at him, dabbing at her dress with a silver doily. "I am _not _senile."

Crope chuckled. "Of course not, dear."

"What are you doing here anyway, Crope? Who let you in?" Glinda snapped rudely.

Crope ran his fingers over his stomach, grown rather ample over years of primping and pageantry. "I have my ways," he grinned.

"Crope!" Glinda squealed. "You cannot keep telling people you are an ambassador from Ix! It's not right! And I suppose you told the guard that I speak Ixan and that I am some kind of channel between you and Ozma, making me out as something I'm not-"

"Dear Glinda," Crope said, "it seems every so often a little- oh what shall we call it?- a bud, yes! A bud, if you will. A bud of imagination bursts through that pampered skull of yours."

"I am not dressed to receive visitors," Glinda puffed.

Crope glanced lazily at the chandelier, ignoring her. "You'll never guess who arrived at my house last night!" Crope sang to her.

"Whoever it was," Glinda said, "they can wait. You-" she barked to the maid, staring at them, intrigued, "fetch Master Crope some tea- sugar and cream, is it, Crope? And bring up some of those petit fours." She turned to Crope. "I shall change, and then we will discuss your nighttime visitor."

Glinda entered her drawing room, freshly clad in a purple velvet evening gown and a purple silk turban (to hide the parts of her hair that were splashed by the water), to find Crope sifting through her petitions, pausing every few seconds to laugh at one or another.

"Listen to this: 'Miss Glinda, the elderly of Frottica would greatly appreciate larger numbers on the Frottican Clock.' Larger numbers!" he crowed. "Do you actually grant these?"

"I do," she said, laughing. Her bad mood had evaporated with the simple act of putting on new clothes. "Most of them," she added.

"I don't envy you," Crope confessed, sipping his tea. "To deal with these lunatics! What a career!"

Glinda sat back in her chair, munching on a little cake. "Edybay," she started, choking on a mouthful of crumbs.

"Please don't do that; you look like a cow." Glinda gave a muffled shriek and swallowed. "Anyway," she cleared her throat, "what were you saying about a visitor?"

"Oh, no, no, no, dear," Crope grinned. "You will meet this visitor yourself in person. Tomorrow at eleven for lunch."

"What?" Glinda sat up. "You come here, ruin my dress, tell me you have fabulous gossip, and then don't reveal it? Crope!"

"I told you, the dress isn't ruined. If you give it to me, I have a wonderful laundress who can-"

"That's not the point," Glinda interrupted. "You just breached a serious offense of rudeness. Oh," Glinda gave a little start. "I just remembered. I have a luncheon with the mayor of Red Sand tomorrow." She frowned. "Perhaps next week?"

"No," Crope said firmly. "Tomorrow. Tell the mayor you have contracted the flux. Just be at the Ozma Ballroom at eleven." He drained his tea and studied the grandfather clock. "Dear me, look at the time. I'll be going." Crope stood and walked out of the room, pausing at the doorway.

"You don't want to miss this, Glinda," he said quietly, in the most serious voice she had ever heard him use. She heard his footsteps down the hall.

Glinda sighed to herself. _The things I do, _she thought and she smoothed out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped her quill in her customary dark pink ink.

**Respectful greetings to the mayor of Red Sand from the mayoress of Frottica:**

**My dear sir Mayor,**

**I am terribly sorry to inform you that I cannot attend the luncheon we had scheduled for tomorrow at eleven. I am suffering from a severe bout of influenza…**

please review


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello once again, darlings. I am here to present the next chapter and to warn you: updates may not be fast lately. This is my "busy season" due to: projects, plays, and entrance exams. I will try not to have a two month delay again ::shudders:: because that was inexcusable. So on to the story, and bonus brownie points if you guessed who the visitor was. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Wicked. **

Glinda stood in front of the mirror, trying to weave a pearl-covered tiara through the mounds of piled curls on her head. Instead of achieving an elegant, queenly look, she succeeded in making the ringlets stick out at odd angles. Frustrated, she ripped the crown out of her hair and yelped as some strands caught onto the gilded frame.

"Miss Glinda?"

"What?" Glinda snapped irritably, glaring at the noise near the door. Marla cowered there, looking quite dejected. Glinda felt her eyes soften and said, "Yes? What is it, dear?" She loosened the hair and pulled out the tiara carefully; she set it on the table, and ran a brush through her curls, wearing it down instead.

"The coachman told me to fetch you, madam. The time is ten thirty."

"What?" Glinda cried. The Ozma Ballroom was in town, but at the farthest end. It took almost a half hour to get there. Nearly tripping over her pale green dress as she rushed out the door, Glinda almost knocked the wind out of the child. Marla ran behind her, down the stairs, panting. "Must go, dear!" Glinda puffed, reaching the door. "Tell Hilda I will be home to eat tonight!"

She sped out the door and used the hand of the groom to nearly catapult herself into the seat. Breathing heavily, she leaned back against the cushion and ordered the driver: "Go."

"As you wish," he growled, muttering obscenities under his breath about the inability of women to be ready on time.

Glinda reached for her matching green clutch, where she had carefully placed the next letter for reading on the ride. She unfolded it.

**4 May 3039, Ozian date. **

**Minik ot Bellun.**

**Glinda dearest,**

**After a month of painstaking work, Yackle and I have prepared an impressive amount of blankets. Yackle is starting to work on baby clothes. I am not yet allowed to progress to these because according to Yackle-of-the-Interminable-Advice _I don't have enough talent._ So at the rate she is going, which is about three stitches per hour (due to the fact that she has to look over my shoulder each minute and criticize me), my son/daughter will have half of one article of clothing at their birth. **

**I've been thinking about those words recently lately: my son or daughter. I don't know if I have a preference. I just want to do this (parenting) and do it right. I am five months into this, which means (as I am constantly being reminded) that I am more than halfway through, and that I will have a wonderful reward at the end of all of this. Like I am some drooling brat that can be bribed with a new toy. **

**I do confess that I have been thinking often about the baby- _my _baby. He or she has been kicking madly lately and it is a feeling I can't describe. I feel like… like somebody truly needs me still in this world. **

**Fiyero has developed an extremely annoying habit of talking to my stomach, which is much bigger now. If he doesn't knock it off- and soon- my child will be fatherless. I have my ways.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

Glinda sighed. She didn't know Elphie had such a sentimental side. She gingerly placed the letter back in her clutch and counted trees, wishing she had brought another letter to read. It took all of her self control to keep from diving in the box and spending one night reading them all. If only-

_Thunk._

The carriage jerked forward and Glinda hit her head on the ceiling. She shrieked and heard the driver calling, "Whoa, boy! Steady."

Finally it seemed that they were stopped and Glinda rubbed her head, dizzy. She ascended from the carriage, walking tipsily like a drunkard. "What is it?" she asked.

The driver was examining the horse. "Cast a shoe," he replied grimly. "We're about a mile away from the Ballroom. I've sent the footman for a blacksmith, but we could be here for two hours."

"Two hours!" Glinda squeaked. "Sir, I cannot wait for _two hours!"_

The driver frowned. "Miss Glinda, the only way you will get to your luncheon is by walking. I have to stay and wait for the blacksmith, though," he added unhelpfully.

Perhaps she had a curiosity to meet Crope's visitor. Or maybe it was because she hadn't had the food at the Ballroom in six months. She suspected it was mostly because she had shirked an important duty for this. But for whatever reason, Glinda began to walk the mile.

Thirty dirty, sweaty minutes later, she arrived in Frottica town, cursing her three-inch heels and her heavy skirt. She trudged into the door of the classy Ozma Ballroom. The maitre'd raised an eyebrow at her, and Glinda knew that if they hadn't known who she was, she would have never been admitted into the building with her outfit's current state.

The hostess greeted her, "Good afternoon, Miss Glinda, may I help you?"

"Yes," Glinda said, "did you seat a party under the name of Crope about a half hour ago?"

"Yes, madam," the woman said, "at table six. Shall I ring up the table for an escort for you?"

Glinda hesitated, but only for a moment. She couldn't look _too _improper. "Please do," Glinda replied smoothly.

She heard the hostess' voice ring out into the room, "Will an escort from table six accompany a guest into the ballroom? Table six, please." After what seemed forever, Crope appeared.

"Sweet Oz, what happened to you?" he asked, taking her arm and leading her into the Ballroom. The room wasn't exactly to her taste (the colors were in shades of reds and golds, not pastels that Glinda loved) but she admitted to herself that they were very pretty anyway.

"It's a long story," Glinda replied.

"Explain it over lunch," Crope led her to the table, "but first…" 

He didn't finish his sentence, because Glinda recognized the extra person at the table. Her mouth formed an O and she heard her voice, much higher than her usual squeak, cry out.

"Boq!"

**And it goes on... new characters, more light shed on Glinda's life, and a new perspective of Elphaba's thoughts. I do apologize for the lack of identifiable (is that a word?) plot. Review please!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry, I know, I know, I promised no more long waits. ::avoids the jeers and sneers of the crowd:: I feel absolutely rotten, honestly. And I bring tidings of more sad news: I have recently gotten involved in an extremely demanding show. What does that mean to you? The next update may not be until April. ::ducks as tomatoes are thrown:: I apologize for the delays and hope you all enjoy this chapter. I introduced a fun character to try to make it up to yall. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, places, or things.**

* * *

"Boq!" Glinda squeaked again, as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in a way that Galinda of the Arduennas certainly wouldn't do. But this was Glinda, mayor of Frottica, bored widow and older matron, who was eager to see an old friend.

"Glinda," he choked out as she cut off his circulation. "How are you?"

"Marvelous!" she cried. "Absolutely splendid! Oh, step back, Boq, let me have a look at you!"

He complied and she let go of him, circling him critically like a vulture. His hair was entirely gray, but he looked dignified and stately, not old at all. "Oh, Boq, you look wonderful," she breathed.

"I can't say the same for you," he grinned. She stared down at her wrinkled, dusty green gown.

"You were always an impertinent Munchkinlander, never knowing your proper place," Glinda reminded him.

"You were always an uptight Gillikinese, arrogant and spoiled," Boq teased.

"Careful, Boq," Crope said, as they sat down at the table. "You're associating with high society now."

"Ha!" Boq wheezed. "High society! That's a laugh. I've had about enough of high society. Milla was high society and look what happened there!" Instantly, his pleasant and cherrful demeanor turned first dark and angry, and then sad.

Crope laid a hand on Boq's arm gently. "Don't upset yourself, mate."

Glinda raised an eyebrow. "Erm, pardon?"

Boq heaved a sigh. "Milla left me. She left a note on the table, saying she'd had enough of the countryside, and she was taking the children to the City, where she has relatives. After twenty-four years, she just up and went. I swear," he was shaking now, "I was so angry. The children." His voice broke down feebly. "The children…"

Crope exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding. His eyes met Glinda's and they flashed a sympathetic look. "Boq's been staying with me until he can get his life together again."

"Yes," Glinda murmured. "How many children was it, Boq? Four, five? It was quite a number when I last talked to you."

"Five," Boq said. "We started with five. The baby died, however, a fever-" his voice quavered but he steadied himself. "My daughter Clarinda is married to a nice farmer in Munchkinland. My son Yellowgage is an apprentice blacksmith; he's bunking with Clarinda and her husband until he can get on his own two feet. They both didn't go with Milla, as their lives are here. Milla took the two youngest. My home is torn up- she took much of the goods we've accumulated over the years. Clarinda offered to let me stay with her in her home, but I couldn't do it. I can't see that child yet. She is so much like Milla: flighty, impatient."

"Isn't there anything you can do to get your children back?" Glinda asked, moved by the story and filled with desperation.

"No," Boq responded sadly, "Milla has threatened to sue for custody of the two youngest if I try to fight for them. And let's face it," he frowned, "who would choose a hick Munchkinland farmer over a society dame with good connections? So I showed up at Crope's the other day, and he's helping me get back on my feet."

Crope's eyes met Glinda's again and they seemed to frantically flash: _New subject- now! _Glinda nodded and said to Boq, "Now tell me about Clarinda and what's his name? Yellowgage? How different, go on, now tell me."

Crope nodded approvingly and Glinda knew she had hit a good topic. Boq seemed to be very proud of his eldest children. "Oh, Clarinda is wonderful," he raved, "a good girl. She is twenty-two years old and made a lovely, respectable marriage. Her husband is a good man, such a good man. They've been married for a little over four years, and they've had some trouble having a baby-" Glinda winced; she and Chuffney could never have children- "but she's got a lovely little girl who comes over on weekends and bakes cakes with her and sips tea; they just have a grand old time.

"Yellowgage is twenty. He's a blacksmith's apprentice. I was so pleased when he decided to become a blacksmith. Really, farming is a highly overrated business." Boq took a deep breath, a little happier. "Glinda, what has gotten into you? Normally _you _monopolize the conversation."

Glinda blushed. "I like hearing about your family."

"What has been going on with you lately?" Boq inquired.

"Oh," Glinda waved her hand impatiently, "nothing more than usual. Crope came over last night and made me knock over a vase, and now my brand-new dress is ruined…"

"Let it go, Glinda…" Crope sighed.

"...but other than that, nothing since the last time we met, which was quite a while ago," Glinda finished.

Crope stretched his head to look over at the waitstaff, who were talking placidly among themselves, obviously not in a hurry to serve. "This is ridiculous!" he fumed. "You two have talked for an hour and the waiter hasn't even taken our drink orders yet!" He picked up his napkin and cleared his throat.

"Crope," Boq warned, "don't make a scene. Remember what happened at Muvvels." He lowered his voice to Glinda confidentially. "The other day we were at Muvvels and he saw a display of silken shirts in every color but purple, which of course was the color he _had _to have, and-"

"Wait a minute," Glinda interrupted. "You shop at Muvvels?" Her voice was incredulous. She could hardly imagine conservative, dignified Boq at a department store that sold expensive, frivilous clothing and accessories.

Boq's face grew red. "Certainly not," he huffed. "I was only accompanying Crope. I do _not _shop at Muvvels."

"Boq, you lie, lie, lie," Crope chuckled. "He bought an incredibly divine alligator skin wallet yesterday." Glinda laughed loud, obnoxious laughter that she hadn't laughed in years.

"Well… well," Boq sputtered, "well, they have a tasteful men's department!"

For a moment Glinda could have sworn she was channeling Elphie's spirit. "Are you sure it was alligator, or was it Alligator?" she demanded suddenly, suspiciously.

"Mmm, dunno," Crope said, "but the price was outrageous." He fanned himself with a napkin. "I'm parched."

Almost on cue, the waiter showed up. "May I take you drink orders, sirs and madam?" he asked, his voice dripping with oil.

"It's about bloody-" Crope started, but Boq interrupted. "I'll take a glass of your white wine of the day, please."

Crope calmed down enough to say, "I'll have a glass of merlot."

Glinda smiled benevolently. She started to say, "I'd like water with lemon," but then changed her mind. She was with her friends and would treat herself this once. "I'd like a glass of your white wine of the day, also," she said. "Red wine before six in the evening," she informed Crope, "is vulgar."

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**Oh, I love Boq. Before you all bombard me with questions about starting something between Boq and Glinda, the answer is: I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. That being said, happy Christmahanukwanzakah to all, and please review on your way out! I'll see what I can do about updating. **


	13. Chapter 13

Happy Bunny Day to all of my Easter-celebrating readers! I updated a little earlier than expected and here's a surprise, since I don't know when I'll next update. I'm going to try to get in the habit of once a month. Reviews may goad me to sticking to this new regime :wicked smile:.

Disclaimer: Own nothing. Wish a lot.

Here you go: Chapter 13…

> > > > >

It almost seemed as though, with Boq and Crope back in her life, Glinda had crossed over an invisible border, back into her youth. Together, they chatted, laughed, and resurfaced memories that she had almost forgotten. _Well, not forgotten, _Glinda thought as Crope told an amusing anecdote that involved her in second-year sorcery classes and a magicked pair of sewing sheers. _Just stored into a box in the back of my mind._

Another box was breaking down the barrier of her maturity. Reading Elphie's letters brought back painful memories that Glinda would have liked to forget. But also, she learned things that she was sure Elphie would have tracked her down and murdered her, best friend or not, had she found out Glinda had read them. The box was addicting. It was, to her, a box of yummy chocolates that she was just aching to gobble entirely. But, she knew, if she tried to take everything in at once, she would make herself sick off of the memories. A nervous breakdown was something Glinda was keen to avoid.

> > > > >

**16 July, 3039 Ozian date.**

**Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**I'm huge. I look like a big green warship. It's disgusting. Not only have I swollen to monsterous proportions, but my legs are cramped all the time (not just when I am walking) and the baby won't stop kicking. All I get all day is thump, thump, thump. I swear to Ozma, I hear it in my sleep. **

**To make matters worse, Yackle has moved in. Well, that's not exactly true. It's just she's always there when I wake up, even when it's around five in the morning. And she doesn't leave till well past midnight. Though I am supposed to be sleeping. ("Nine o' clock, every night! And don't let Yackle hear any lip from dolly! The little ducky needs it." As though the big ducky doesn't.) I swear, I am going back in time. I haven't felt this chained since I was living in Quadling Country, when I was to be in at six in the evening, sharp. That Melena had a nasty temper if you were late.**

**Not that Yackle is any better. All day long, I hear, "Are you drinking enough water?" What a lovely question! _Am I drinking enough water? _What do you think, Yackle?**

**Well, according to Super-Nanny, no, I am not. And by the Unnamed God, if this child turns out to be severely deformed, I will have only myself to blame. **

**I don't tell Yackle that this is my worst fear. I would never forgive myself if my child had my deformity. Although, I must say, Liir was perfectly normal colored, but a bit on the pasty side.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

** > > > > >**

**3 September, 3039 Ozian date.**

**Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**Oh, sweet Ozma! The baby came yesterday! **

**It's a girl! She's five pounds, six ounces, and she's just darling. (Oh, Ozma, that sounded like you, didn't it, Glinda?) The labor was only about three or four hours.**

**She has my eyes- dark, dark, dark. Her hair (well, what she has of it) is the color of midnight. But her skin is her true beauty. She is tanned, almost golden. Like a gypsy. She is absolutely stunning. Even Yackle said, "Well, the dolly didn't screw it up this time."**

**And she's right.**

**She has no blue diamonds, though. When I remarked upon this, Fiyero gave me this sort of incredulous-quizzical look and said, "Well, she wouldn't. The blue diamonds are tattooed on as a sign of manhood. No one is born with blue diamonds, Fabala." Then I felt stupid. I suppose I was expecting a blue-green-diamond-patterned Lurlinemas decoration to pop out. But it didn't. She's perfection. She's all the beauty I wish I had.**

**We named her Merylene. Yero's mother was called Meryl, and the "lene" part is after, well, Melena. Believe me, Glinda, that wasn't my idea. But Fiyero insisted. We are going to call her Merry for short. And I am making a solemn vow. You can be witness to it, Glinda. I will not screw up Merry's life, as I did Liir's.**

**As always,**

**Elphaba**

** > > > > >**

Well, do you like it? Merylene: yes, odd, I know, but I (May) am rather partial to "M" names. Tee hee. Review, and I will send hugs and kisses by mail.

P.S.- I may skip some years because I don't want this story to be 50 chapters long! But don't worry; there will be plenty of letters (and surprises) from Elphie in the future.


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry I'm so late. Here's a nice long chapter to make up for it.

Disclaimer: I asked Elphaba if I could own her. Currently, I am cowering from the slew of monkeys she sent after me. So I guess that means I don't.

> > > > >

**22 June, 3040 Ozian date.**

**Minik ot Bellun**

**Dear Glinda,**

**I'm sorry I haven't written you in so long. Merry is now nine months old, and she gets into everything. And I mean everything. Yesterday, she found one of Yackle's hairpieces (Can you believe it? Yackle wears a wig! And it's not even a very good one, either; you can still see her ugly bald head.) and has been using it as a chewtoy. Of course, when I realized what it was, I confiscated it promptly. I mean, who knows what sort of things could be living in that. Yackle isn't exactly the very picture of cleanliness. **

**And Yackle the Ever-Present is still hanging around, because, after all, aren't I just the embodiment of deplorable motherhood? And what would I do without old Mother Yackle there, guiding my every footstep that leads to the path of righteousness of raising a well-disciplined, god-fearing child? **

**When she said this I laughed so hard, Fiyero thought that I was having a nervous breakdown. Let's think… what would I do without Yackle? Well, maybe I'd get rid of the persistant headache that always occurs when she opens her mouth to speak. And besides, I don't intend to force any religion on Merry. If she chooses to be a god-fearing prude like her Aunt Nessa was, then, by all means, she is free to do so, as long as I don't have to hear or witness her piety. **

**And most importantly, I am _not _the embodiment of deplorable motherhood. That honor belongs to Melena, Princess of Overactive Imagination, Goddess of Immoral Deeds, Queen of Angry Tirades, High Priestess of All Ailments And Syndromes Allowing Her To Ignore Her Own Children. **

**Of course, Yackle retorted to these comments. Fortunately, it was kept short. A mere, "I have nothing more to say to you."**

**Thank Oz for that. **

**Although this may seem trivial to you, it was quite a nasty shock to Yero and I. When we bathed Merry the first time, she developed a series of blisters and angry scarlet rashes. Unfortunately, we've concluded that Merry inherited my unusual allergy, and we sent Yackle out for more oil. **

**At least she's not green. **

**Well, dear, I've been babbling about inconsequential things, and that's not the reason I wrote to you. The real reason that I've been itching to put pen to paper arrived three weeks ago, just after my fortieth (!) birthday. **

**It was late, after midnight. We'd been having trouble getting Merry to sleep, and she had finally nodded off on Fiyero's lap. We were just having a cup of tea before heading off to bed when we heard a knock on the door. I thought it was Yackle, ready with some fresh new way to torment me, and I went to answer the door, thinking, _What in the hell could she want?_**

**It wasn't Yackle.**

**It was my son, Liir. **

**At first we stared in shock at one another. I dimly calculated in my head his age and came to about sixteen. He was still as pale as ever. (I wonder if I would have been that light had I been normal-skinned; Nessarose was always a bit peaky.) His hair was an infuriating shade between blonde and brown- undecided and wishy-washy, like him. He had grown a good deal in the past two years; he towered over me by a good four inches. He had his father's height. All of his childhood puppy fat had been shedded. He was stocky, but not in an unattractive way. **

**As I watched, Fiyero spoke, and I realized that I had blocked Liir entirely from view. "Elphaba," he asked, "who's there? Are you alright?" **

**"Hush," I murmured to my- what do I call him? Lover? Husband?- turning my head ever so slightly to answer, but still hiding our son from view. Then to Liir I said, "What are you doing here?"**

**Ever the linguist, he replied intelligently, "Umm… I…" while gripping his small traveling bag with one hand and playing with the string of his cloak with the other. **

**Refusing to let him pass without an acknowledgement of my question, I waited until he countered awkwardly with, "May I come in?" before I pushed aside the door and let him in. **

**Yero had set Merry down on our bed and stood upon seeing Liir, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Who are you?" he demanded.**

**"Stop, Fiyero," I ordered, and I saw Liir's eyes go round at the name he only ever heard at Kiamo Ko twice- once from Nor in reference to her father; the other time from the magical Carp in the fishwell. **

**I had a great deal of explaining to do.**

**"Sit down," I told Fiyero. "You also," I turned to Liir. They both obeyed. **

**Suddenly I felt overwhelmed. I didn't know how to go about it. I wasn't ready to reveal my past. Finally, Liir asked me in a voice that sounded polite, but only had me half-convinced, "Who is this man, _Mother?" _I winced at both Liir's emphasis on the word and Fiyero's expression turning from slight puzzlement to downright confusion. **

**I turned to Fiyero and started from the beginning. **

**"This is my son," I informed him. "When you were captured, Yero, I went into a coma for a year and a half. During that time I gave birth to Liir. When I left the mauntery for Kiamo Ko, I took Liir with me. He disappeared a bit after Dorothy arrived." I saw Liir flush out of the corner of my eye. I took a deep breath and turned to Liir. **

**"Liir, meet your father."**

**His eyes seemed to jump out of their sockets, and if it weren't for the solemnity of the situation I may have laughed, for he looked like a startled fawn. Fiyero looked no more serene than his son. **

**Liir spoke first. "How…" he gasped. "You are the father of Irji? Nor? Not me as… How?" He finished stupidly.**

**Fiyero swallowed. "I _was _the father of Irji, Manek, and Nor. No longer. I was informed of the sad circumstances surrounding my children's disappearances." I cringed; that had been one of my more unpleasant stories to share. **

**Fiyero's gaze alighted on me. "This is true, Elphaba?" I knew he was secretly pleased that our affair had resulted in a son, and my confirmation would complete his happiness. I nodded. "Liir," he said, "Elphaba and I had an affair seventeen years ago. Her story makes sense." He glanced at me fleetingly. "I fathered you."**

**Liir sat for a moment, contemplating this all with a dazed expression on his face. Then, he stood, and walked over to Yero. He held out his hand tentatively, and Fiyero shook it solidly, a large goofy grin on his face. They embraced and then Liir came over to me, and hugged me awkwardly. **

**I shattered the silence that followed after we broke apart by asking a question. "Why are you here, Liir?"**

**He blushed. "I didn't think you were still alive. I would never have dreamed of looking for you, but I was passing though the Lesser Kells. Since you mel- I mean, since Dorothy came, I've been in Shiz, working as an assistant in one of the banks. I had been sent on an expedition to meet with some of the local tribes when I ran into some old biddy called… oh, I can't remember."**

**"Yackle," I muttered darkly.**

**"Yeah, that's it." He looked at me strangely. "She directed me to your cave and told me I would find something of interest there."**

**"So are you staying?" I asked dryly.**

**He looked uncomfortable. Yero chimed, "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Our home is always open to you." **

**I felt a little tug of maternal instinct pull at my so- my heart. This had been happening more often than usual since Merry was born. "You're at least staying the night, Liir," I said firmly.**

**"Yes," said Fiyero happily. "I'll make you up a bed." Then he disappeared behind one of the curtains we had used to divide the cave into "rooms." He left Liir and I alone, staring fixedly at anything but the other.**

**Liir's gaze feel on the sleeping Merry on our bed. "Who?" he breathed sharply. **

**I took a breath. "Liir, this is your sister. She was born in September. Her name is Merylene." **

**"My sister?" he asked wonderingly. He moved closer. "May I?" He asked me, looking fearful.**

**With mixed emotions, I nodded. Liir placed a thick finger on Merry's cheek, but surprisingly, she stayed asleep. I breathed a sigh of relief and Liir glanced at me. "She's really my sister?"**

**I nodded. "Your honest-to-goodness, full sister of the flesh."**

**"Wow," he said. **

**Fiyero popped his head out from behind the curtain. "Come on, Liir. Let's get you settled." **

**"Goodnight," I said quietly. He nodded and disappeared behind the curtain. Behind it I could hear them talking softly. **

**"How long will you stay?" Fiyero's voice prompted.**

**"I dunno," said Liir vaguely. "A few days. The expedition, you know."**

**He's been here ever since.**

**As always, Elphaba**

** > > > > >**

You know what to do. Press the pretty review button!


	15. Chapter 15

Hello again! I've just realized that I've been working on this story for OVER A YEAR! Some of my older (meaning stuck with me since the beginning) readers may recall a most happy time when I updated once a week! Ah, those were the days. Sadly enough, dancing 30 hours a week and starting school soon is not improving my update rate. I implore you to bear with me. On with the show…

Disclaimer: I do not own Wicked. I do not think anyone in their right mind would write a fanfiction for their own novel.

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Ever since the last letter, Glinda had been plagued by nightmares full of remorse. They were always the same: Elphie would melt on the ground, her hat floating in the puddle, and then suddenly she would materialize again, her and Fiyero and a faceless baby, and she would plead silently, "How could you forget me?"

Every night it would be the same. Glinda would awaken, sweating and panting, her breath ragged from the night terror, and wonder the same thing each night: _Could I have somehow prevented this? Could I have found a way to bring Elphaba and her family out of obscurity so they could live in peace?_

The part of the dream that disturbed her wasn't the extreme vividness of her friend's death.

No. It was that Elphie was pleading

Glinda knew Elphie well enough to know that pleading was something that Elphie did in her life so little that she could most likely count the number of times she begged on one hand. She could never remember Elphie imploring for anything. It always seemed that she demanded- ordered Glinda to come to the Emerald City with her, insisted she have Nessa's shoes. Elphaba was never really as pessimistic as she wanted everyone to believe; Glinda believed that, deep in her heart, Elphie knew people were mostly good, but when they showed that they were a bit reluctant to work for what Elphie considered good, she insisted that they rearrange their priorities to match hers. _Really, _Glinda remembered, _it was a bit trying at times._

But then Glinda remembered, clear as the unionist church bells, two incidents in which Elphaba was pleading. Once was with the Wizard in the Emerald City. The other was something that Glinda considered trivial at the time, but now that she was low on memories, it seemed of utmost importance to her.

> > > > >

_"Sweet Oz, Glinda. That's the sixth one in the past half hour."_

_Glinda twirled around in front of the mirror, which they had bought soon after the infamous hat incident. Glinda had decided she would not be bothered with trotting over to the bathroom in different outfits to simply view herself. Right now, she was dressed impeccably in a peach satin cocktail gown embroidered with pearls on the bodice and the trim. Glinda smiled at her reflection, admiring the bold cut of the neckline, the cap sleeves, and the fashionable Glikkun lace. She had purchased the dress from a tiny little shop on the edge of town nearly a year ago, and she'd paid nearly an arm and a leg for it, but right now she felt like going out to dance tonight, and she felt she would not dance as well in any other dress. _

_Suddenly, Glinda became aware that Elphie had spoken to her. She whirled around and peered at Elphie, who was on her bed, studying her history notes. _

_"This is it," Glinda replied. "This is _the_ dress. I shan't have to try on any more."_

_"Thank Oz for that," Elphie's sarcasm bit the air. "If you tarry any longer, we'll be late."_

_Glinda glanced at the clock dismissively. "Not late enough for them to worry." Her gaze became critical. "What are you wearing tonight?"_

_"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Elphie asked, offended._

_Glinda studied Elphie's dress. It was pretty, Glinda conceded, but not right for cocktails. It was short sleeved, which was odd for Elphaba. The inky black (an Elphaba staple color) material hugged her upper body, and came down in an a-line cut from her waist, floating out in a swishy skirt. It was Bohemian and chic, Glinda thought. In vogue, even. But not right for cocktails. _

_"Well, Elphie," Glinda explained patiently, "it's a cocktail party, and cocktail dresses are short."_

_Elphie shrugged. "I think it's okay. Besides, we won't be at the cocktail party long. Boq and Crope and Tibbett and Fiyero and Avaric the Bastard have no patience for dancing. You wait and see- by nine o' clock, we'll be at a seedy pub for sure, and my attire will be more accepted there."_

_Glinda sighed, exasperated, and glided over to her wardrobe, throwing it open. "Humor me, why don't you?"_

_Glinda inspected Elphaba's collection (if you could even call it that) of clothes. They were all plain, modest dresses- some long, some short. Black, black, and more black, here and there navy or brown. Glinda sighed. She had her work cut out for her. _

_"I see you are unwilling to work with me," she said matter-of-factly. "We'll just have to use something from my closet."_

_"No." Glinda could tell Elphie was alarmed. "I refuse."_

_"No choice," Glinda sang out while throwing clothes around, trying to find an outfit for Elphaba to wear. She needed something that would complement her bright skin tone and her sharp un-feminine features._

_"Perfect!" she exclaimed, pulling out a dress. In a tornado of Glinda-enthusiasm, she whipped off Elphie's current dress and left her shivering in her underclothes for a split second before forcing what Elphie believed was a storm cloud over her head and stuffing her into it. Glinda tugged and pulled the fabric, cursing under her breath. _

_"Oh dear," Glinda groaned._

_"What?" Elphie's muffled retort came irritably from under a sea of fabric. _

_"I put it on the wrong way," Glinda sighed, jerking the dress downward. "You're supposed to step into it. But we'll just make… it… fit… good thing you're skinny." she gritted her teeth and grunted, and with one final yank and a quick zip up the back, the dress was in place._

_Glinda watched Elphie gaze at herself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful. It was a mint-green knee length, almost white, covered in lace. It was simple, tight around the bodice, and broadening at the waist. Glinda smiled at Elphie, who was speechless. The color balanced her skin and the dress made her look coy, almost flirtatious. _

_"You look lovely," Glinda said, and she meant it truly. "Elphie, you are fantastic. You could wear white heels and I do believe I have a lace shawl somewhere around here." Glinda reached into her jewelry box and pulled out an opal pendant on a ribbon. "This would go _perfectly, _and I lent Pfannee the earrings, but we could stop by her room on the way over and get them, and you would have a matched set." _

_She plowed on giddily. "It look's fabulous! In fact, you can keep the dress. I've gained just a tad bit of weight since I bought that, and besides, that color makes me look sallow anyway…" Glinda moved to fasten the necklace around Elphie's neck._

_But the contact seemed to have broken the spell. Elphie regained her normally lucid gaze and shook her head abruptly. "No," she said, "it's too much."_

_"Nonsense!" Glinda chimed. "It's a _gift, _Elphie."_

_"I meant the dress... it's just too much, I don't know… too much something," Elphie said slowly._

_"You don't like it?" Glinda asked, crestfallen._

_"No," Elphie continued mechanically, still a bit overwhelmed, "it's the most beautiful thing I've ever worn in my life. But it's not me. I just can't wear this out."_

_"Elphie," Glinda said impatiently. "You are wearing this dress. I insist. It looks gorgeous, you look gorgeous- what's not to love? I won't take no for an answer."_

_Elphaba turned her eyes to Glinda, and they frightened her. They were wide and pleading. "Glinda," Elphie said, her voice soft, "please don't make me wear it. _Please. _I just… can't wear this. I would feel very uncomfortable. I would much rather wear one of my own dresses." She went to her wardrobe and pulled out a black spaghetti strap dress. _

_"Alright," Glinda said, both a bit hurt and shocked at her friend's remarks. "But at least wear a bow around the waist and maybe some trim. I think light pink."_

_"How about silver or gray?" Elphie asked hopefully._

_"White," Glinda said firmly._

_"It's a deal," Elphie replied. _

_They shuffled around awkwardly, searching for something to say to break the silence. Finally Glinda said, "I guess I'll get started on this dress. I can finish it in ten minutes."_

_"Okay."_

_So Glinda altered Elphie's cocktail dress and Elphaba went back to her history notes. Gradually the awkward silence disappeared into a comfortable one, and they both pretended the cocktail dress incident never happened._

_ > > > > >_

Glinda knew that she had crossed a line that day: a fine line that Elphie had drawn between sarcasm and insecurity, a line that should never be toed. Part of Glinda had wanted to scream and shout, "Why won't you let yourself be pretty? What do you have to lose?" But she understood that if she forced Elphie to expose her uneasiness, she would throw her over the edge, and their friendship alongside her.

> > > > >

The next morning, Glinda felt much more refreshed. Memories to her were what drugs were to others: an escape from reality, a chance to be someone else, to remember when she was someone else. It was a good high, but a horrible withdrawal- when she came back to reality, the bump was more like a huge wallop, and she thought that if she wasn't careful, someday she might just withdraw like a recluse into her memories and cease to live outside her own mind.

But for now she was content to enjoy the calm before the storm. And when she glided into the kitchen early in the morning, she was perfectly alright with the fact that Hilda, and therefore her morning entertainment, was absent. Instead, it was just little black-eyed Marla, baking a peach cobbler.

"Morning!" Glinda cried shrilly, startling the girl so that she almost dropped her pan. "Where's Hilda?"

"Called in sick," Marla said. "She wanted to come in, but she would have infected the whole place. I convinced her not to."

"Good girl," said Glinda absently.

"Would you like breakfast, madam?" Marla asked politely, remembering her manners.

"Simply an apple, I think." Glinda said. Seeing Marla moving to fetch one, she exclaimed, "Oh, no, dear! Stay where you are and finish that scrumptious-looking dish! I can get it myself. What are you baking for anyway?"

"Oh, a friend," Marla replied, checking the heat. "I visit a lady called Clarinda on Sundays. She's like an aunt to me."

"Clarinda, Boq's daughter?" Glinda asked.

"Yes." Marla looked confused. "I believe her father is called Boq."

"Oh, how splendid!" Glinda said delightedly. "I should really accompany you sometime. I haven't seen Clarinda since she was a wee little girl! Tell her that Glinda says hello when you see her, will you dear?"

"Of course," Marla curtsied as Glinda backed out of the room, humming to herself. Marla turned her attention back to the peach cobbler, wondering what Her Ladyship had been drinking last night.

* * *

The dress scene serves no extremely important purpose. I just wanted to show some more Younger Elphie. I wanted to open up more of her insecurities. The dress scene was inspired by my friend, who has Elphie-like clothes taste and makes shopping a pain in the ass.

See the pretty blue (or is it purple) button? Press that review button! Reviews inspire me.


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